


i'll walk through walls into your heart

by perfectlyrose



Category: A Passionate Woman (TV), Spies of Warsaw (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Meetings, LegendsLikeStardust, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 01:53:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9797282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectlyrose/pseuds/perfectlyrose
Summary: Betty loved tracing the spidery cursive writing that ran down her forearm in a tidy line, loved dreaming about the person would one day say those words to her and reveal themselves as her soulmate. Foolish dreams for one of her station to have, people said, but she held tight to them regardless and hoped they would lead her in the right direction.





	

**Author's Note:**

> an admin fill for fluffuary
> 
> Prompt: soulmates
> 
> Prompter: asmilelikestarlight (ofhopesanddreams)

Betty loved tracing the spidery cursive writing that ran down her forearm in a tidy line. It had taken her a long time to decipher it, being in French as it was, but the sentiment was simple enough once she could read it.

_(“Qui êtes-vous?”)_

( _Who are you?_ )

It was a question she whispered back to her soulmark late at night when no one would chide her for being silly enough to hope that she would venture far enough into the world to actually meet someone from France, for hoping that the words on her arm would lead her to happiness.

Betty clung to the words as she grew older, as she watched her friends get married and leave her behind, most of them completely disregarding the words that resided somewhere on their bodies.

(They’d all whispered the words to each other when they were girls, giggling as they speculated what their soulmates would be like.)

(How had they forgotten those nights so quickly? Thrown their dreams by the wayside like yesterday’s rubbish?)

Sometimes Betty thought she would be happier if she could do the same, if she could just accept the advances of Donald, the sweet boy who wanted to court her despite the fact that she was fast approaching spinster status.

Still, she hoped and she dreamed and ran her fingers over the familiar and foreign words. One day she’d meet him, she knew she would.

Those hopes were all she had left when she accepted a job offer in war-ravaged London and left Leeds and her family and Donald behind to chase a dream she was half afraid to even have.

——————————–

Jean-François looked up from the classified dossier in his hands at the sound of the door opening. Everyone who was supposed to be in this meeting was already seated at the table.

In the doorway was a brunette in a carefully patched jacket and skirt. She was pretty in an odd sort of way that drew his eye - wide mouth and big eyes and nervous tics as she picked at the fabric of her skirt. She looked like she belonged in a country house smiling at a lover in the early morning light, not stumbling into a secret meeting in a war office.

“Qui êtes-vous?” He asked, words coming out in French automatically even though he’d been in London for more than two months now.

“M-my name’s Betty, sir,” she stuttered out, eyes going impossibly wide as they locked with his. “I think I have the wrong room.”

“I believe you do,” Jean-François replied mildly, gaze sharpening as he took a closer look at her. She was not exactly what he’d expected when he’d allowed himself the luxury of wondering what the person who would speak the words scrawled across his bottom left rib in a careful hand would look like.

The world did always like surprises, especially, it seemed, in wartime.

“I’ll just go,” Betty said weakly, already backing out although her eyes were still on him, a question evident in them.

( _It’s you isn’t it? Are my words are on you just like yours are on me?)_

(His heart was beating out a rapid tattoo of affirmatives in every language he spoke, a quick morse code message to the woman in the doorway that he knew nothing about except her name.)

(He’d learned her name before he’d learned how to write his own.)

“Mademoiselle,” he called, stopping her in his tracks. “Betty.”

The name felt like fine wine on his tongue, aged perfectly and paired wonderfully with the face in front of him.

“Yes, sir?”

“Have someone show you to my office. We have much to discuss I think.”

She nodded and moved to walk out, a smile lighting up her face. “Um sir, what’s your name?”

He decided to wait to give her his full name until he could hear her say it to him in private. “Colonel Mercier. Someone will show you where to go.”

Betty nodded again and stepped back into the hall, closing the door softly behind her.

Jean-François ignored the questioning looks from his colleagues and started talking about the latest information they had received from their assets.

(If he happened to cut the meeting shorter than he normally did so he could make for his office and the improbable soulmate who waited for him there, that was no one’s concern but his.)


End file.
